


come lie with my bones

by ShyAudacity



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Archie Andrews Needs a Hug, Aromantic Asexual Jughead Jones, Canon Related, Domestic Violence, Evil Geraldine Grundy | Jennifer Gibson, F/M, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hostage Situations, Hurt Archie Andrews, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, If i missed a tag im sorry, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 01, Teacher-Student Relationship, Touch Aversion, Touchy-Feely, i wrote most of this in two days idk how, in this house we hate her, its not mentioned but its true, its one of those fics yall im so sorry, will up the rating if need be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 04:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18113573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyAudacity/pseuds/ShyAudacity
Summary: Something about Archie isn’t right these days.Jughead waits for him one night, sitting on his front steps, already playing out in his head what he’s going to say to Archie when he gets home. In the end, he can’t do it. He doesn’t have enough information or a solid reason worth possibly ruining what little trust he’s gained back from Archie. Instead, they end up playing video games for hours, it’s like nothing has changed between them. It’s nice to pretend for once.He knows that there’s something going on with Archie, he can feel it.Now if only Jughead just knew what it was.ORWhat if Grundy never left? What if no one knew?





	come lie with my bones

**Author's Note:**

> last fic: chapters were barely 2k words
> 
> this fic: is an 8.5k stand alone fic.
> 
> What the hell is wrong with me??? The world will never know. It was good to write platonic Jarchie again though, this idea had been rattling around in my brain for too long, it needed to be let out. Also, my 100th fic, holy shit.
> 
> Unbeta'd and title from I wanna be your girlfriend by girl in red.

Something about Archie isn’t right these days.

Jughead’s had a few hunches since school started, but nothing has stuck just yet. There was one day that he thought he’d found something- heard a weird noise coming from the music room- but it was just Archie dicking around with the piano. Jughead hasn’t voiced his suspicions at all, much as he may want to. He doesn’t want to drive Archie away after he just got him back; they’re still relearning how to be friends after fighting this summer.

Jughead waits for him one night, sitting on his front steps, already playing out in his head what he’s going to say to Archie when he gets home. In the end, he can’t do it. He doesn’t have enough information or a solid reason worth possibly ruining what little trust he’s gained back from Archie. Instead, they end up playing video games for hours, it’s like nothing has changed between them. It’s nice to pretend for once. 

He knows that there’s something going on with Archie, he can feel it.

Now if only Jughead just knew what it was.

 

 

 

Unbeknownst to his dad, Archie quit football. It’s not that big of a deal, he wasn’t getting any playing time anyway. Besides, now he has more time to focus on his music. Well, his music, and Miss Grundy.

Archie spends all of his after-school time either in the music room or at her house. They’re usually transcribing his songs into sheet music or doing… things. No one else knows about them. _Geraldine_ made it very clear that it had to stay that way, Archie wanted to honor that. He wants her to trust him.

One afternoon, they’re in the living room talking when someone comes to the front door, ringing the doorbell. Both of them go wide-eyed.

“Hide,” Miss Grundy demands, “Behind the couch, now.”

Archie does as he’s told, moving over the back of the couch and crouching there, stuck between the sofa and the wall. He finds himself holding his breath, worrying about being heard by whoever is at the door. Archie can hear Grundy conversing with someone, but he can’t understand what’s being said. 

She comes back a few minutes later, a flustered look on her face.

“Stupid kids,” she says, pulling him to his feet, “Kept trying to sell me cookies.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_.”

“It _is_. What are you so worried about, anyway? No one saw us.”

“Because, Mr. Andrews,” she says, tugging at his collar, “I plan to keep you for a very, very long time.”

 

 

 

Jughead is walking home- more specifically, walking towards the Twilight Drive-in- when the sound of someone yelling his name nearly makes him jump out of his skin. He looks up from the sidewalk to see Archie of all people on the opposite side of the road, already checking for cars before walking towards Jughead.

“Hey,” Archie greets. “Where’re you going this late in the afternoon?”

“Uh, nowhere… where were you?”

“Oh- nowhere.”

The air between them grows awkward; Jughead shifts back on his heel as Archie looks up at the sky. The clouds have completely covered up the sunset, everything around them is grey.

“Ah, damn, I think it’s gonna rain. Do you wanna come over?”

“Huh?” Jughead asks, distracted.

“Come over, do you wanna come over? Dad probably has dinner ready by now, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

He thinks about it for all of two seconds before saying sure. He wouldn’t mind having a home cooked meal, he can’t remember the last time he ate something that didn’t come out of a box or from the school vending machine. Jughead hopes that if he’s lucky he won’t have to sleep on the cot tonight.Then again, he won’t have it much longer. The drive in gets torn down next week.

Lord only knows what he’ll do then.

 

 

 

Archie and Jughead are walking to calc after lunch when he remembers something. “Oh, hey, I forgot to mention it, but I stopped by your place the other night.”

Jughead gives him a deer in headlights look, “You did?”

“Yeah, you left your t-shirt behind. I went to return it and you weren’t there.”

“Oh, yeah, I uh-.”

“Not to be rude, but is your dad doing okay? He seemed a little worse for the wear.”

Jughead looks like he’s not sure what to say- or maybe he’s just not sure where to start. “Uh, no he, uh… I don’t really know, actually. I haven’t been living with him for a while.”

“Then where are you staying? With your mom somewhere?” 

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t been with my mom either.”

“Wait, then where are you staying?”

“…at the drive-in, or I was, at least.”

Archie’s shoulders go tense, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna bother you with this. It’s no big deal, Archie.”

“Like hell it's not!” He snaps, a few passing students turn their heads to watch him. “You’re coming home with me.”

“You don’t need to-.”

“Yes, I do. You’re always looking out for me, Jughead. Let me do the same for once. Please?”

Jughead gapes at Archie for a moment, looking like he’s going to protest, but ends up nodding his head. Softly, he says, “Okay, I’ll stay at your place- but just until I get something figured out, that’s it.”

Archie feels relieved as they walk the rest of the way to class. It’s not until later when he passes Miss Grundy in the hallway that he realizes his secret- _their_ secret- just got a hell of a lot harder to keep. He tells himself that he’ll figure this out, he’ll think of something to tell Jughead to keep him from asking too many questions or getting overly suspicious.

That afternoon, when Jughead asks why Archie’s making a detour on the way home, Archie lies and says that he’s studying with Betty at Pop’s, that they have a group project or something. Luckily, Jughead buys it, says that he’ll meet him back at the house later. 

He’ll make this work. He has to. No one knows this, but Archie’s been wondering- worried even- about what Grundy what do to him if he didn’t. She’s been short-tempered with him lately, more than usual. Not as loving, more intense but in a bad way. He hopes it’s just a phase, that it’s just something they need to work through.

Otherwise, he fears things might start to go south in ways that he can’t come back from.

 

 

 

Jughead walks into the kitchen as casually as he can, headed straight for the freezer. He doesn’t realize that Fred is watching him until he speaks up.

“Can I help you find something, Jughead?”

He whirls around, startled, “Oh, hey- no, I mean uh- I banged up my knee earlier, I was just looking for an ice pack or something.”

“I don’t know about ice packs, but I think there’s a bag of corn in there you could use. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, just a bit sore, but I’m good. Thanks, Mr. A.” Jughead grabs the towel hanging on the oven door on his way out, wrapping up the bag of vegetables he’d found. He walks briskly back to Archie’s room, finding him exactly the same way he’d left him.

Archie is leaning against his desk, a hand covering the side of his face. He looks up at Jughead when he comes dropping his hand to catch the cold bag flying towards him.

There’s a bruise forming on the outside of his eye, right above his cheekbone. Its bright red color with bursts of purple speaks volumes; Jughead’s blood runs cold the longer that he looks at it.

He drops onto Archie’s bed, arms crossed. “Remind me again why we can’t tell your dad about this?”

Archie shrugs, holding the bag to his face, “Don’t wanna freak him out, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”

“Okay… then how’d you get it?”

“Jug-.”

“Cause if you’re gonna tell me you slipped in the shower or something then-.”

“I caught an elbow to the face in the locker room today, that’s it. Really, dude, its-.”

“No big deal, I know, you said that already. But-.” Jughead cuts himself off, unsure if he wants to finish his sentence. “Not to sound ridiculous or anything, but you haven’t been acting like yourself lately. Is there something going on? That I don’t know about, I mean.”

Archie’s jaw goes tight for a split second, he pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He’s got that look on his face that makes Jughead think Archie isn’t sure what to do here.

“There’s… this girl, that I’ve been seeing,” Archie says finally, tone quiet, “But she’s a bit older, so we haven’t told anyone.”

“Older? So, what? She’s a senior or something?”

Archie drops his gaze, “…not quite.” 

Jughead’s spine goes rigid, he straightens up. “Archie, you can’t-.”

“Don’t give me a lecture right now, alright? I already feel weird about it; your input really isn’t gonna help.”

Jughead loses some of the tension in his shoulders, calculating how Archie won’t look him in the eye anymore, like he’s _afraid_ of all things. He stands up carefully, watching Archie’s anxious movements, how he keeps rubbing his fingers together but doesn’t look up even once. 

It makes him feel sick.   

“Whatever this is,” Jughead says, flatly, “Whatever you have going on with this girl, I’d consider whether or not it’s worth staying together if it means having to lie to your dad _and_ your best friend about getting hit in the face.” 

He leaves before Archie can give a rebuttal, hating that he’s in on this secret now, that there’s nothing he can really do without ruining things between the two of them.

 

 

 

Archie doesn’t go to Grundy’s for a few days after the black eye incident, steers clear of her classroom entirely. He keeps replaying the moment over in his head, can’t remember what he’d said to upset her only remembers her open palm coming flying towards his face. It’s a miracle one of her fingernails hadn’t cut his eye.

When he finally goes back to her, he stays in the doorway, shuffling his feet anxiously as she comes towards him. Grundy reaches a hand towards his face and Archie has to keep himself from retreating. Her thumb ghosts under the fading bruise, as if studying her handy work; Archie looks anywhere but at her.

“This wouldn’t happen if you would just listen to me.” She says, “You understand that, don’t you?”  

Archie nods, but doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t want to make this worse.

“Good boy, Archie. I knew you’d come around.”

 

 

 

It happens so fast that Jughead barely realizes what’s going on in the first place.

Archie is standing at the counter, facing away from Jughead as he fixes his lunch; Fred walks into the kitchen, pocketing his phone.

“Hey, Archie do you still have practice today even with the rain storms coming in?”

Archie doesn’t respond, too distracted it would seem. Fred asks again, but still no answer from his son. It’s not until Fred reaches for his son, hand headed towards his shoulder that Archie catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. He flinches almost violently, throwing himself away from his dad’s incoming touch- as if he thought Fred might _hurt him_.

Archie’s arm goes up across his chest, still wielding a butter knife, covered in grape jelly; Jughead feels his own pulse spike watching it unfold. 

“Whoa, hey, _hey_ , Archie, relax. It’s just me, son.”

Archie breathes heavily, keeping his guard up. He looks between Fred and Jughead, the panicked expression won’t let up.

Jughead can practically hear how Archie’s breath is tripping over itself inside of his throat, like he’s about to make a nose dive off the deep end. Before he or Fred can ask Archie is dropping his arm, releasing the knife from his hand; he rushes past both of them, out of the kitchen entirely. The door to his room shuts a few seconds later.

Jughead starts to get out up from the kitchen stool, ready to follow Archie, when Fred stops him, holding a hand up.

“No, hey, no don’t, Jughead,” he says, “Let me take this one.”

Feeling dejected, Jughead sinks back into his seat, watching Fred scale the staircase. A part of him wants to go eavesdrop, to press his ear against Archie’s bedroom door and see what all the fuss is about- what’s eating at him. But Jughead doesn’t do anything, just sits and waits.

Jughead’s leg bounces anxiously, rattling the stool against the hardwood. He watches the clock above the stove; if he and Archie leave now they could still make it to their first period without getting detention. Maybe they can sneak past Mrs. Phillips without being caught.

Twenty minutes later, Jughead watches Fred descend the staircase with a discouraged look on his face; he’s almost afraid to ask whether or not Archie is okay.

Fred looks up at him, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, going straight for his travel mug on the counter. “Arch isn’t feeling too good, he’s gonna skip out on class today. You’re more than welcome to stay here if you want, I’ll call the school on my way to the site.”

He leaves out of the front door not thirty seconds later, shutting the door a bit more forcefully than need be. Not knowing what to do, Jughead just sits still, listening to all the noises the house makes. After the awkward feeling has kicked in, he gets up, he steps out of his worn-out shoes then goes upstairs.

The door to Archie’s room is shut when he gets there; Jughead knocks- three quick raps with his knuckles just like always- before letting himself in.

Archie is face down on his bed over the covers, pillow pulled over his head like he’s trying to block out the rest of the world. Jughead shuffles over to the bed, letting his knee push against Archie’s calf as he sits.

“Do you-.”

A muffled “No,” cuts him off from under the pillow.

“…okay. Well I’m here, when you want to.”

Archie holds himself differently nowadays. It’s impossible not to notice. Jughead fears sometimes that the reason may be something worse than he could ever imagine, that one day Archie will be so deep in this mess that there will be no way out.

Neither one of them ends up leaving the house that day.

 

 

 

It’s two days after Thanksgiving at three twenty-nine in the morning an Archie feels like someone is trying to dig out his insides with an ice cream scoop.

He’s lying on the floor in his bathroom, hands pressed into his eyes just trying to fucking _breathe_ correctly. He’d had a nightmare of all things- one where he was being chased through Fox Forrest, but nothing was behind him. Just a voice, echoing in his ears.

_I plan to keep you for a very long time._

Archie’s not sure how long he’s even been down here but he’s pretty sure he’ll pass out if he doesn’t get his lungs to work soon. Before he knows what’s happening, the bathroom door is creaking open and Jughead is walking in, bleary-eyed and confused.

“Hm- Arch?”

Archie jerks up into a sitting position, pushing himself back against the bathtub. “J-Jug.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know- I can’t- can’t breathe right.”

“In for seven and then out for eight.”

“What?”

“Breathe in for seven seconds and then breathe out for eight. It’ll help, I promise.”

Archie looks at Jughead skeptically, but also knows that he’d rather be able to breathe again than fight him about this. It takes a minute, but eventually the _seven eight seven eight_ rhythm starts to kick in. Once he can breathe again, Archie wraps his arms around his knees, feeling embarrassed that someone had to see all of that.

Jughead sits across from him on the floor, looking like he isn’t sure which question to ask first.

“It was just a nightmare, Jughead, it’s no big deal.”

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare… you wanna-.”

“ _No_.”

“See, you keep saying that and I keep not believing you. So out with it already, would ya?”

Archie avoids his pressing glare, feeling intimidated. _Do I really wanna do this,_ he wonders,  _do I really wanna make her more of a monster in the eyes of my best friend?_

“G-... She got mad at me the other day. Even though I apologized she still wouldn’t talk to me.” The _I’m afraid Geraldine might hit me again_ goes unsaid. 

 “Why was she mad?”

 _Cause I told her no._ “I’m not sure. It’s been happening more often lately. I’m not really sure how to fix it.”

“It’s okay to leave if things are bad, Archie. Or even to want to. There’s no shame in that.”

Archie doesn’t respond, just nods. He knows that on some level- at least he thinks he does.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Jughead asks.

“Yeah, think so.”

“Good. Now get up, I’ve had to pee for like half an hour.”

Archie laughs to himself before getting up. He toys with the idea as he shuffles back to his room. It’s not a bad suggestion by any means, but Archie can’t imagine that Geraldine would be very happy about it. She usually isn’t when it comes to things that he recommends.

Archie flops back onto his bed, pulling the covers over himself. As tired as he is, he can’t fall back asleep; he can’t stop thinking about what Jughead said in regards to leaving. He wants to believe it, he really does. But, more than anything, he wants to not be afraid all the time.

 

 

 

 _It has to happen today,_ Archie tells himself, _I have to do it today or I’ll never find the courage again. I hope that she doesn’t get too mad at me for this._

This Sunday afternoon finds Archie in Miss Grundy’s house. Not an uncommon occurrence for him, but his reasoning for the impromptu visit isn’t one that he’s very excited about.  

After the talk he had with Jughead the night before, Archie knows that his friend was right. Being on edge all the time isn’t worth staying with someone, no matter how much they say they need you.

“I think we should break up,” he says, not even two minutes into being there.

Miss Grundy halts in the foyer, shoulders going stiff as she turns to face him. “Excuse me?”

“I think- that we should split up, for a bit,” he says, carefully. “We’ve both been kind of on edge lately. Maybe a little space would do us some good, you know? Give each other some time to think about what we really want.”

She saunters over to him and Archie feels like his heart is trying to leap into his throat.

_Don’t be mad. Don’t be mad. Don’t be mad. Don’t be mad._

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“If you think we need some time apart, then we’ll have some time apart.”

 Huh, Archie thinks, that was easier than I thought.

“Okay, I’m glad that we’re on the same page.”

She nods, an unreadable look on her face, “But first, I need your help with something. There’s an old love seat in the basement I need to bring up, but I can’t lift it myself.”

“Sure, okay. I can do that.”

Archie follows her to the basement door. It’s dark when she swings it open, a scrap of sunlight comes in from the corner window at the top of the wall. He goes in first, looks around halfway down the staircase that he realizes that the basement isn’t even finished. The space is completely empty; there’s no loveseat down here.

“Wait- I thought you said-.”

Before he can finish, her foot comes into contact with the middle of his back, sending him flying down the wooden staircase. Archie groans as he hits the ground, the cement under him does nothing to break his fall. His head swims mercilessly, the impact leaving him dazed and hurting.

In the ten seconds before he blacks out, he hears Geraldine come down the stairs, sees her blurry figure standing over him.

“It’s like I said, Archie,” she says, “I plan to keep you for a very. Long. Time.”

 

 

 

Archie wakes up later with a throbbing headache in near darkness. He pulls at his hands, hoping to soothe the pain in his head only to find that they’ve been restricted. He lifts his head up enough to see that his hands have been cuffed together and attached to a chain connected to the support beam in the middle of the floor. She must have moved him at some point; the staircase is at least eight feet away now. No chance of him getting away.

He blacks out again before he can gauge how long he’s been down there.

When he comes to again, there’s sunlight shining on his face coming from the window; it must be the next day. The brightness makes his headache even worse, he tries to roll away from it but doesn’t get very far. Just as he’s easing himself into a sitting position, the basement door creaks open and Archie feels his blood run cold.

Miss Grundy doesn’t even smile at him when she comes downstairs, just cocks her head like she’s trying to decide what to do with him next. There’s a granola bar and a water bottle in her hands, Archie’s stomach rumbles as if to remind him how long he’s been down here.

She tosses the granola bar towards him first and it lands face up, two inches away from his hands. The outside wrapping reads peanut butter chocolate chip.

“I can’t eat that,” he says.

“And why not?”

“It has peanuts, I’m allergic.”

Miss Grundy rolls her eyes at him, walking towards him, crushing the granola bar under her heel. For a flashing frightening second, Archie imagines his own head in place of the granola bar, being squished until he finally pops.

She taunts, “Let me guess, you’re allergic to bottled water too?”

Archie shakes his head, wishing he had an extra four inches worth of reach so that he could pull the bottle out of her hand.

“ _Please_. I’m thirsty.”

Miss Grundy snickers in his face, “Stupid boy. You think I’m gonna let you drink this?”

He gapes at her, confused by the words.

“…yes?”

She huffs lightly; once she crouches in front of him, unscrewing the bottle, Archie realizes what’s about to happen.

“Geraldine, wait, don’t-.”

But it’s too late. The water is already spilling over the front of his hair, down his shirt, reaching the crotch of his jeans even. Archie gasps at the contact; the liquid quickly seeps through both his t-shirt and the dark long-sleeved shirt he had on underneath, making goosebumps arise in the area. He tries to pull the wet material away from himself, but it does little to help.

Miss Grundy stands finally after watching Archie squirm. She drops the plastic bottle two feet away from him, less than an inch of water left in the bottom.

“A word of advice, Mr. Andrews,” she says, hauntingly, “I’d consider your options more carefully next time.”

 If there’s one thing that he knows, it’s that he’s not getting out of here any time soon.

 

 

 

It’s almost dark again by the time that she comes back.

Archie has spent most of the day sleeping off and on, the still present headache making it hard to do much else. The cold cement is hard on his back, but’s it not like he can ask for a pillow and blanket.

He jerks upright when he hears the door open, pulling his feet closer to himself; Miss Grundy has a water bottle again and Archie worries that she’ll pull the same stunt from yesterday.

She hovers at the bottom of the stairs, looking at him up and down, an unreadable expression on her face.  

Before Archie say anything- apologize for yesterday- Miss Grundy walks over and sits herself in his lap, straddling his thighs. The chain is under her leg- Archie’s hands are stuck in this position until she gets up.

“Do you trust me?”

Archie nods despite the lump in his throat.

She twists the cap off the water bottle, saying, “Open.”

He does as she says, tipping his head back when she brings the bottle to his mouth. Archie tries not to be greedy about it, he doesn’t want her to take the water away from him just yet. He drinks it down until the bottle is half empty, hoping that maybe he can save some of it for later.

Miss Grundy pulls back when Archie tips his chin away from her, he avoids her pressing gaze. Her hand comes up to the side of his face, making him look up at her.

“Just say the word, Archie,” she says, quietly, “Say it and we can act like this never happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Take it back. Say that you were wrong about trying to leave me, and I’ll let you go back home.”

Archie feels his throat close up. He shakes his head.

“I don’t want to be with you anymore, Geraldine.”

He knows instantly that wasn’t what she wanted Archie to say because her face grows hard. Then, her hand is pulling away from his face just long enough to rear back and land an open hand _smack_ across his cheek, making his head spin. The nail of her thumb splits the skin above his cheekbone, making him bleed.

She gets up finally, spitting in his face, “Wrong answer.”

Miss Grundy slams the door behind her as she leaves, and Archie begins to worry that he may actually meet his doom down here. He wonders if his Dad is looking for him, wonders if anyone is going to come and find him.

 

 

 

Archie’s been missing for two days and Jughead is starting to get borderline homicidal. If Archie isn’t found soon then he might actually lose his mind. He’s been wracking his brain trying to think of where he could be, but every place that’s he’s checked has been a dead end. It’s for that reason and that reason only that Jughead finds himself walking towards his Dad’s trailer instead of going to school on Wednesday morning.  

He raps on the door loudly until FP answers; Jughead can smell the beer on his breath, he’s not even surprised.

“Jug?”

“Did Archie come by here?”

“What the hell are you-.”

“Just answer the question. Did Archie come here?”

“What’s it matter?”

“Cause no one has seen him in two days and if he shows up dead in a ditch somewhere I’m never going to forgive myself so just- have you seen him or not?”

FP leans against the doorway, “No. I hav’n’t seen him.”

Jughead sighs, shoulders dropping in defeat. He grumbles, “Some help you are.”

He walks away from the trailer, back at square one again when he hears FP yell: “How do you know he’s not holed up with his girl?”

Jughead stills, turning over his shoulder, “His girl?”

“You mean to tell me that a kid like Archie’s not snatched up by anyone? That he’s just a free man?”

“Well, no, he’s seeing somebody, but Archie said she’s older. The only other girl he ever talks about is the music teacher-.”

Jughead feels his stomach drop at his own words, the realization kicking in. “Oh, god,” he says in a rush, picking up speed as he walks away from the trailer park. Jughead digs his phone out of his pocket, dialing the familiar number. It picks up on the second ring.

“Mr. Andrews, it’s Jughead. I know where Archie is; he’s with the music teacher.”

 

 

 

Whether it’s because of the cold or nerves or the fact that he hasn’t had any real food in two days, Archie can’t get his hands to stop shaking. His wrists are bruised red from pulling at the handcuffs, trying to see if he can free himself, but nothing worked. Grundy walked in once on him trying to break the chain somehow and she threatened to snap his wrists if she caught him again. Needless to say, but Archie didn’t try again after that.

At this point, he doesn’t know what day it is anymore. His headache isn’t as present as it was before, but that’s more or less due to the fact that the hunger pains are starting to drive him mad.

For a minute, he considers taking his shoes off and seeing if he can manage to break the corner window and trip the security wire. All he would have to do is make sure he had the right angle so that he doesn’t miss the window and miss his chance at finding a way out of here-

Before he can get too far into the idea, he hears a siren coming from outside. Multiple, even. If he tilts his head back, he can just barely see the lights coming from outside, the reds and blues flashing from squad cars surrounding the house.

Miss Grundy bursts downstairs in a fit of rage not even a second later, not bothering to shut the basement door behind her.

Archie can hear someone- Sheriff Keller, he presumes- banging on the front door, demanding to be let in.

She’s holding a silver handgun; Archie feels his blood run cold at the sight of it. “What the hell did you do?” 

Archie holds his hands up pathetically, “I didn’t- I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

“Bull shit!” She screams, pointing the gun at his chest, “Who did you tell about us?”

“I didn’t tell anyone, you said not to! I promise, I listened!”

Above them, the sound of splitting wood echoes into the foyer. A chorus of deputies breaking down the door and forcing their way into the house drowns out the sound of Miss Grundy firing her gun, still pointed at Archie.

The force of the bullet ripping through him knocks him flat on his back, making him cry out in agony. She missed his chest entirely, landed one in the meat of his left shoulder instead, and another in his forearm. The searing, _hot_ pain makes him forget about the ache in his stomach altogether.

She kicks him once, twice in the ribs before someone- a deputy or Sheriff Keller hopefully- is yanking her away from him. There’s a sound of metal clinking together somewhere nearby; handcuffs, probably.

Archie wonders fuzzily when someone is going to come over and take his off. He can feel his senses starting to leave him, can feel something warm and wet puddling under his shoulder. He stares up at the ceiling, eyes stinging with tears, unable to do much else.

He’s thinking _is this it? Is this the thing that’s finally going to take me out?_

_I hope my dad knows that I’m sorry._

 

 

 

Being told to wait at the car by Sheriff Keller sounds like the absolute worst thing in the world to Jughead right now. Himself and Fred are both standing there with the car doors open, waiting with bated breath for something to happen.

If Archie doesn’t come out of that house on his own two feet then Jughead might actually lose his mind.

Both the Sheriff and Fred had looked at him like he was delusional when he told them that Archie had to be with Grundy. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Jughead knows that Archie’s been practicing with Miss Grundy in the mornings before school for weeks now, and he hasn’t talked about any other girl beside her. He’s mad at himself for not realizing that she’s been the “older girlfriend” all along.

Jughead looks over at Fred anxiously as Keller directs his deputies to knock down the front door.

“You’re sure about this, Jughead?”

He’s about to say “Got any better ideas?” but before that ever happens, a movement at the front of the house catches his eye. A deputy is leading Miss Grundy out of the house in a pair of handcuffs; there’s a patch of blood staining the front of her shirt.

Just as Jughead is beginning to wonder who the blood belongs to, Sheriff Keller sticks his head out of the house, yelling, “Call for back up! This kid needs an ambulance!”

That’s all the motivation that he needs to get away from the car and run inside the house. He can hear Fred yelling _Jughead, wait, no_ behind him, but he can’t be bothered to listen to him, or any of the deputies trying to keep him outside of the house.

Don’t they understand that Archie needs him? That’s his _best friend_ , dammit.

Jughead finally finds him in the basement, flat on his back and chained to a post in the floor. There’s a pool of blood under his shoulder; it’s hard to tell where it stops and where Archie starts. The blank, _not there_ expression on Archie’s face makes Jughead feel sick to his stomach when he drops to his knees next to Archie.

He touches Archie’s chest first, shaking him, trying to get a reaction. Nothing. Then, Jughead places his hands on either side of Archie’s face almost frantically. His breath feels like it’s skipping over itself in his chest.

“ _Arch_. Archie, c’mon, talk to me,” he says, voice watery. “Archie, just look at me, dude, _please_.”  

Nothing, still. Archie’s glazed over eyes never leave the ceiling. Feeling panicked, Jughead leans over his body, still touching Archie’s face as cries into his neck, not knowing what else to do. He’s trying to convince himself that Archie isn’t _already_ dead when someone comes along and starts tugging at his shoulders, trying to take him away from Archie.

Jughead throws himself away from the unwanted touch, covering Archie’s body even more.

“No. _No_!” Jughead yells, “I need to- stop, I need to stay with him!”

He proceeds to fight off the hands pulling at him until Fred Andrews appears seemingly out of nowhere, saying, “Please, Jughead, let them help.”

Jughead looks up and realizes that the paramedics have been trying to get Archie out of here for only god knows how long, that they’ve been stalled by the teenage kid refusing to let go of his best friend. He sits back on his haunches, letting the medics finally get to work and Jughead finds that he can’t bring himself to look anymore.

If these really are Archie’s last moments, he doesn’t want to have that picture in his head. He doesn’t want to be haunted like that.

By the time Jughead looks up from his hands, Archie is already out of the basement and in the back of the ambulance, away from the mess of this place. Jughead looks around for a minute, taking in his surroundings.

How could he have not known something so horrible was happening to his best friend? How could be so blind to it all?

 

 

 

Once they’re actually at the hospital, it’s hours before anyone is allowed to see Archie, not even his dad. Betty and Veronica show up after a while, both of them crying; Jughead wants to console them, but he doesn’t know what to say. He’s still trying to convince himself that all of this is still some big bad dream that he’s having.

Fred gets called into a back room eventually; there’s a sick voice in the back of Jughead’s brain saying _stuff like that only happens in tv shows when someone’s kid just died_. After that, he feels like he can’t even breathe until Fred comes back- there’s a strange expression on his face, one that Jughead can’t place.

He gets to his feet, stopping a few feet short of Fred; Betty and Veronica do the same.   

“They got the bullet out of his arm,” Fred says, shakily, “The one is his shoulder was a through and through, but it nicked a bloodline. They think that’s why he bled so much.”

“But- but is he-?”

“He’s fine,” he tells Jughead in a rush. “He’s stable, and a bit dehydrated- but he should be fine… physically anyway.”

That last part makes Jugheads stomach sink into the ground.

Jughead goes in to see Archie first, mostly at Betty and Veronica’s insistence. His palms begin to sweat the closer and closer that he gets to the room, but he keeps moving anyway. He needs to look at him, just for a minute, just to be sure. Jughead hovers outside of the room for a long moment, his fingers ghosting over the door handle.

There’s a window looking inside of the room, but from this angle, Jughead can’t see Archie’s face at all. If it weren’t for that- and the still lung restricting fear that Archie might go and die on him- Jughead might stay out here forever.

If at all possible, Archie looks worse now than he did when he was bleeding out in that musty basement. The stark white color of the hospital sheets isn’t doing him any favors. He’s paled considerably since the last time that Jughead looked at him- or maybe that just his brain playing tricks on him, but at least he’s stable now.

He takes a seat at Archie’s right side, the uninjured side, notably. There’s an IV further up his arm that’s giving him fluids and a cannula leading up to his nose. Even though he’s covered by a light blue hospital gown, Jughead can see that his shoulder has been wrapped in gauze; there’s a similar one further down his arm from where they dug the bullet out of him.

Dug a bullet _out_ of him

Jughead’s afraid to touch him, worried about hurting Archie more, but if he doesn’t get some sort of proof that all of this really is happening then his head might just combust from all the frantic thoughts running through it. Gingerly, Jughead lays his hand where Archie’s wrist and hand meet, surprised at how cold he is; he’s always been a walking space heater in comparison to Jughead. 

There are rings around Archie’s wrists from where the cuffs dug into his skin, Jughead finds himself tracing them with his fingers tips, gentle as ever. He presses his fingers against the inside of Archie’s wrist, the feeling of a pulse jumping underneath the skin making Jughead feel like he can finally breathe again. He wants to say: _I don’t know what I would have done with myself if something worse had happened to you._

But he doesn’t, he can’t make the words come out. Instead, he drops his voice to barely a whisper, leaning to closer to Archie as he says: “I’m sorry… for not realizing it sooner.”

 

 

 

Jughead hears Mary Andrews show up later that night more than he actually sees her. He’d stepped out of the room for a minute, feeling suffocated by the overly clean smell in the air and all the machines in Archie’s room. Jughead can hear a commotion coming from down the hall as he walks back from the vending machine, Reese’s peanut butter cup in his hand.   

As he rounds the corner, he finds Mary standing outside of Archie’s door having a conversation with Fred, looking as pissed off as Jughead’s ever seen her. If the startled look on Fred’s face is any indication, the conversation is going very well in his favor. Neither one of them have seen Jughead yet, so he stays put. He doesn’t want to intrude any more than he already is.

Archie hasn’t woken up yet, but Jughead gets the feeling that he just might if this argument gets any louder.  

“You promised that he’d be safe here, Fred,” Mary shrieks; there are tears streaming down her face. “You said you’d keep him protected, how could you let something like this happen?”

“Archie didn’t tell me what was going on- it’s not like I can read his mind. I tried, Mary, believe me. I’m doing the best that I can here.”

“Really? Because it looks to me like you let our fifteen-year-old son get _shot_ by some _maniac_ -.”

“This isn’t all on him,” Jughead interrupts, causing both adults to look over at him. “Mrs. A, I know you’re mad, but- but he didn’t know. Archie didn’t tell anyone about this girl, not even me... we can’t keep him safe from things that we don’t know about.”  

He hates himself for lying, but he doesn’t want to give Mary more of a reason to be angry at him. That certainly wouldn’t help his case at all.

Mary takes a step back from Fred, looking right at Jughead. She stalks forward, stopping just two feet short of him; Jughead feels his shoulders tighten out of instinct.

She drops her voice into a harsh whisper as she says, “You should have paid more attention to him.”

Mary walks away from him after that. It’s relief in more ways than one because Jughead feels two seconds away from losing it all over again. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath before he dares to open them again; Fred is still there when he does, the frightened look still planted on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Jughead says shakily.

Fred nods, “I know, Jug. We all are.”

 

 

 

Archie doesn’t wake up until nearly four in the morning and the first thing he does is _panic_.

Jughead is halfway asleep in his chair next to Archie’s bed when Archie’s cold hand closes around his wrist, catching Jughead off guard. It takes everything in Jughead not to rip away from him; something about being touched by other people, even Archie, makes him want to crawl out of his skin more often than not. Just as well, having an overly emotional few days like these definitely isn’t helping his case. He stays put anyway, for Archie’s sake more than anything else.

“Arch?” he asks, raspy, “Archie, are you okay?”

Archie’s glassy eyes don’t even look at him; they’re stuck on the ceiling, just like before, just like when he was still in the basement. His breathing is coming out quick and strangled like it’s all that he can manage. The machine’s next to him start beeping more frantically- waking up Fred in the process.

“Hm, what’s- Archie?” Fred says, his voice muddled with sleep.

“He can’t breathe,” Jughead rambles, “He’s not- I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Before he can say much else, two nurses and Archie’s doctor come rushing into the room. The doctor barely looks at Archie for more than five seconds before telling the nurse on his right to sedate him.

Jughead has to look away when the nurse sticks the needle in Archie’s IV; not even two seconds later, Archie’s whole body relaxes again and his eyes slip shut- like he’d never been conscious in the first place. Jughead’s eyes fall to Archie’s hand- the one that never let go his wrist for even a second- and he has to get out of here. _Now_.

The chair squeaks against the linoleum as he scrambles to get out of his seat, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. There’s a bathroom around the corner from Archie’s room _thank God._ Jughead slips on a puddle of water on his way in, crashing to his knees in front of the toilet just as the contents force their way out of his stomach. In a weird way, he’s surprised he lasted this long before his anxiety got the better of him.

Jughead flushes the mess away before the smell can reach his nose, he knows that would only make it worse. He snatches a piece of toilet paper of the roll, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand.

When he looks back over his shoulder, Fred is in the doorway, standing guard; Jughead doesn’t doubt that he’s been there the entire time. He’s grateful that Fred doesn’t try to touch him at all- he knows better by now, from all the years of knowing Jughead and watching the ways he’s grown into himself.

Fred looks as bad as Jughead feels right now. But still, he says, “C’mon. When he comes back he’s gonna wanna talk to you first.”

 

 

 

When Archie comes to a second time, the reaction is far less grand than before. His eyes aren’t as cloudy as they were the first time around, and he seems to have bit more of his wits about him.

Jughead stays vigil at his bedside, not doing anything, just giving a chance for Fred and Mary to have a moment with their son.

“Hey, son.” Fred says, softly, “We’re right here, you’re okay.”

Archie blinks a few times, coming back to himself more and more. His gaze shifts over to his parents, looking confused by the sight of them standing together. He doesn’t have a chance to try and speak before Mary is reaching for him.

“Hey there, sweet boy,” she says, smiling brightly at him. “We’re so glad that you’re okay.”

Archie freezes at the sound of her voice. He whines when she touches the side of his face, terrified, obviously. He pulls away from her as much as he can even when it hurts him. Archie’s shaking hand curls around Jughead’s wrist, just like before and Jughead just lets it happen; he knows that Archie needs this right now.

It’s not until Fred convinces Mary to leave the room for a few minutes that Archie finally calms down, that Jughead finally gets him to breathe on his own and talk to him for a minute before he drifts off again. At least it’s natural this time.

Later on, when Betty and Veronica come to see him, the same thing happens all over again. Archie stutters over his own breath when the girls get close enough to touch him and continues to do so until they’re out the room entirely. It breaks Jughead’s heart to see his best friend in so much pain, so afraid. The nurses and doctors blame it on the fever. The infection in his arm won’t let up no matter what they try; they say that Archie is just seeing things, but Jughead knows it’s not true.

 _She_ did this to him. She instilled a kind of fear in him that refuses to let go.

 

 

 

Archie’s fairly more lucid on his fourth day. He doesn’t fall asleep in the middle of conversations as often. But when he does, Jughead is always there, every time, without fail. Archie finds a comfort in the familiarity of Jugheads jean jacket under his hand when he wakes up. It puts him at ease knowing he’s around.

Him and Jughead are watching some old movie, one that he can’t remember the name of now; Jughead’s got this look on his face like there’s something eating at him. It’s one that Archie’s become quite accustomed to over the years. He gets the feeling now that the look might be there because of him, because of everything that has happened lately.

“Stop that,” he deadpans.

Jughead looks over at him from across the room, eyes wide. “Stop what?”

“Spiraling. Drifting off on me- it only makes you feel bad.”

Jughead smirks at him, turning back to the movie. “I wish it was that easy, Arch.”  

He decides to let it go, not wanting to press Jughead into a conversation he’s not ready to have. All the same, Archie has found lying in bed all day recovering from being shot is surprisingly exhausting. It dawns on him at some point that this hospital bed is definitely big enough for more than one person, and Archie gets an idea.  

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

Archie makes grabby hands at Jughead with his good arm.

“What?”

“Come over here, I’m lonely.”

Jughead laughs with a shake his head, but doesn’t say no.

Archie shifts over as much as he can without aggravating his shoulder, making room for Jughead to squeeze in on his right side. Jughead sits on the bed carefully, his knees curled in his thigh pressed firmly against Archie’s.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Archie replies, dropping his head to Jughead’s shoulder. “Better.”

 

 

 

Archie’s always been a tactile person and Jughead tries not to let that get in the way of Archie’s recovery. He doesn’t like to be alone anymore, especially not if his mom or another woman is in the room. Jughead always sees how Archie visibly relaxes when he comes back from school for the day- like he’s been waiting for him.

Listening to Archie give his statement to the police is all kinds awful. Jughead has to excuse himself afterward and let his frustrations out on the tree in the entrance to the hospital.

“You couldn’t have known what she was doing.” Betty tells him later that same day. “We’re his best friends and he didn’t tell us. There’s no way we could have known, Jughead. This isn’t on us.”

While knowing that she’s trying to help, it just makes Jughead mad because he _should_ have known. He’s had Archie under his thumb this whole time, for _years_ even, hell they were even living together- how could have not have known? How did he not piece things together sooner?

Jughead doesn’t tell Betty that part.

 

 

 

The day Archie’s being released, two days shy of Christmas, he’s sitting up with his legs hanging off the bed. Both him and Jughead are waiting for Fred to come back with the papers.

Archie picks up Jughead’s hand for a second before dropping it, looking almost ashamed.

“Sorry, for being so needy- with the touching, and stuff,” Archie says in a hushed tone. “I know that it’s not always your favorite thing.”

“You know, I think I’d be more worried if you weren’t trying to hold my hand every two minutes.” Both of them laugh a bit. “Really, Archie, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Archie nods, then says, “Did I tell you I’m starting therapy soon?”

“No. Since when?”

“Dad brought it up the other day, said he thinks it might help me work through everything that happened with… you know.”

“It doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. Are you worried about it?”

Archie shrugs, “I don’t know, maybe a little. I’m just mad at myself more than anything, for letting this happen.”

“ _Hey_.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t paint yourself as the bad guy. You didn’t cause any of this to happen, alright? She did this, _she’s_ the one that’s responsible. None of this is your fault, Archie, I promise.”

Archie worries his lip between his teeth, looking as though he may cry. He drops his forehead to Jughead’s shoulder, asking, “Are we ever gonna be better than this?”

Jughead thinks to himself: _I hope so. For your sake, Archie, I really do._  

**Author's Note:**

> The end feels a bit abrupt now but that's whatever. I'm still amazed that I managed to write this absolute behemoth of a fic. 
> 
> Hey! Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! Comments/Kudos are encouraged and appreciated. You can leave a prompt here if you want. Thanks again for reading, have a great day!


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